


The Thing with Feathers

by Solitae



Series: Lilian Hawke, mage revolutionary [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Adventure, Drama, F/F, F/M, Multi, Revolution, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-03
Updated: 2011-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 13:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitae/pseuds/Solitae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“I want everyone in Thedas to have a chance to hear our version of it. This is just the beginning. Mages will be free.”</i> - Lilian Hawke.</p><p>It may have started in Kirkwall, but now the revolution spreads with Hawke and Anders at the center. Post-game DA2 fic, end game spoilers</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We could plan a murder or start a religion

**Author's Note:**

> _So starts the story of my mage revolutionary from DA 2. This picks up just after the end of the game._

If there was one thing Varric knew, it was how to set a scene. Stories, after all, didn't work without context, and he couldn't have a listener on the edge of his seat by delivering the finale too quickly. It took patience, carefully laying out the threads that held the audience captive, a patience that Lilian Hawke had lacked as long as he'd known her. So when their hasty departure from Kirkwall on Isabela's new ship only took them as far as Ostwick, and Hawke sent the crew out to gather the ill and injured for Anders to heal and spread the word that the Champion of Kirkwall would address the city at sunset, he had to admit he was surprised.

Was his favourite impulsive mage beginning to grow up? Part of him suspected she was. She never seemed to have a plan, tumbling and tripping through problems that she delighted in resolving with a swift lightning storm. Another part of him suspected she wasn't nearly so oblivious as her actions suggested. She and Isabela had been preparing for a quick exit clearly. The ship was stocked and ready to leave the moment they arrived, with all of Lilian's personal effects on board. Had Hawke known what Anders was planning? The question chewed at him.

With ears open, he sauntered through the marketplace, his own assignment from Lilian to find out as much as he could about the mood of Ostwick and what people were saying.

Tension rippled through the streets as rumours began to filter in from Kirkwall. _The Circle had been annulled. No, the Circle had fought back and the Knight-Commander was dead. Demons had taken Kirkwall and were on their way to Ostwick even now. No, all of Kirkwall was a burning pile of rubble and no one survived. The Grand Cleric had made a pact with a Pride Demon and fed it the blood of the citizens. No, it was the First Enchanter who had done that, and the templars died trying to take him down._

No one knew quite what had happened, that much was clear, just that it involved mages, templars, and the Chantry. News of the Champion's plan to speak had reached most mouths before he even set out, and the people were eager for real news. Hawke would have her audience, and though Varric made it back to the docks an hour before the scheduled speech, he found them seething with people jostling to get close to the ship.

As the bloody sun disappeared halfway past the horizon, and the pitch of voices began to grow feverish, Lilian strode out on deck. The fading light cast her simple battlemage armor in crimson, and she looked like nothing more than a small warrior for the moment, wearied and bloodied by fighting, hair falling into her eyes.

Lifting both hands for attention, she cried out, her impassioned voice carrying over the din.

"Hear me, good people of Ostwick!"

A hush stole over the crowd, the silence razor sharp as they held their collective breath.

"She stole that from the Grand Cleric," Varric murmured to Fenris as the pair hung back from the prow, waiting to see just what their fearless leader was up to. Anders had been given a very specific spot in view of the crowd, while Isabela was readying the ship to set sail, both at Lilian's direction. The others she'd told to keep their weapons ready 'in case of trouble'. Lovely.

"I am Lilian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall. Once I saved the city from the tyranny of the Qunari, threw off the chains of the Qun."

A small cheer broke out, but she held up a hand for silence.

"But today, I tell you there is a worse tyranny. One that clothes itself in the Maker's robes, but at its heart, it is rot!

"But not that one," observed Fenris dryly as the crowd churned uncertainly with those words. The air thrummed beneath them, and the former slave glanced at Hawke with a frown. "What is she doing?"

"Our beloved Andraste waged war against the Imperium to free the slaves! And now those who claim her name seek to harm her children."

Horrified gasps and cries rose from the crowd, along with a few who tried to shout Lilian down, but she vaulted up on the railing as she punched the sky, her own anger competing with the people gathered.

"How she would weep at the corrupt who profess to serve the Maker! But it will not stand! With my own eyes, while we _fought_ her tyranny, I saw Knight-Commander Meredith struck down by the wrath of heaven, turned to **stone** for her wickedness, for her pride!"

Her glare dared her listeners to challenge her, but her words brought silence save for a few thin whispers of "Maker help us". The crowd seemed unable to breathe, and she dragged out the pointed pause, seeming to look each person in the eye, weighing their sins like a vengeful spirit.

"While the Knight-Commander abused the Maker's children, while innocent men and women died at her sword, while she succumbed to demons, while others suffered because she abandoned her duty, Grand Cleric Elthina stood silent, deaf to the cries for justice, fat and content in her cowardice!" She punctuated her words with a raised fist, the fading red of the sunset echoing her fury.

" _In the absence of light, shadows thrive!"_

Varric stared as he realized the last sliver of sun had disappeared over the horizon the moment she spoke the words, and even he shivered. Maker's breath, she'd timed that well, and the crowd reacted as though the sun would never return again. A howl of terror rippled over the docks.

Her voice rang out clearly over the fearful crowd, comforting and demanding all at once. "But one man, _one man_ had the courage to throw light on her! To be a _true_ champion of the just!"

They were waiting, Varric could feel the people practically on their toes as she wove her scene, and he glanced toward Anders. She wasn't going to do what he thought, was she?

Shimmering light that just hinted at flames broke the darkness to around Anders, his blonde head bent with shaggy hair falling into his face. Blast her, she was. She'd learned too well. "A gentle healer, beloved friend, _Anders_ moved by the _justice of Andraste herself_ struck a blow at this corrupt mockery of the the Maker and his Bride!" His head lifted and, to the crowd, disbelief translated well to humility. They roared for him, pressing toward the ship.

Her hand shot toward Anders, and the dim light glowing around him burst into full flame as she shouted:

" _Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.  
In their blood the Maker's will is __**written**_ _."_

Anders simply bowed his head, but they devoured his uncertainty. Lilian let them rumble for a moment, a faint smile on her lips.

"Tasteful," groused Fenris, rolling his eyes, and both he and Varric straightened as the ship began to move.

The mob reached for them, but Lilian's voice rang out again, chiming through the night as Anders stood unmoving in his halo of flame.

"And so the Chantry burns, my friends, a festering wound that must be cleansed! No more can we allow these pretenders to steal our brothers and sisters, our children, our friends because of their Maker-given gifts." Already the ship was beginning to move off from the dock, but her voice carried through the night. "We will not allow them to feed demons! In the name of Holy Andraste, they destroy the minds of templars with lyrium and the mages with strange rites! And we cry out 'No more!'

They echoed her throaty yell, the dock rumbling with "No more! _No more!_ "

As they slipped out of Ostwick's grasp, she stood on the railing, hands uplifted as lightening crackled around them.

"Stand before the wicked and corrupt! Stand before those who deceive! Stand before those who bring harm to the least of us! Be the champions of the just and DO NOT FALTER!"

Lightning burst across the sky, and the crowd screamed, a living, writhing thing that would have swamped the boat had Isabela not made good on their escape.

And he thought _Anders_ was crazy.


	2. Laugh like soft, mad children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, reactions and arguments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Much love to Drakontion for the hard work as a beta._

The crowd’s roar surged through her, tingling into her fingertips to lend strength to the crackling light filling the sky overhead. _Do not falter._ She could taste the words on her tongue still, the surge of righteous fury they had provoked in Ostwick’s people rippling through her mind. It fed her power, that rush of adrenaline, but as it dulled in the distance, her energy flagged. With a weary sigh, Lilian backed down from the railing and watched as the last jagged flashes ripped across the night.

Her eyes closed, and she breathed in the silence after the storm, the salt from the sea, the tar on the planks. Sails snapped and ropes creaked, but so far, no one dared to speak, even the crew momentarily struck dumb. She had to smile. It was rare that anyone could render all of them speechless at once. Without looking at her friends, she knew they were all staring at her, expecting her to explain _why in all the blighted hells_ she had just done _that_. They could wait a moment more.

A slow laugh spilled from her lips to break the moment, and she spun toward Isabela, the pirate perched near the wheel, command in her eyes as she directed her men.The mage’s gaze swept over her appreciatively, lingering on the curve of her hip for a long moment. With a grin, Lilian waved at her as she called out in a sing-song voice, “Perfect timing, as usual, my dear Captain.”

“But of course,” Isabela purred with a wink, before swinging down a short ladder to join her. Her head canted thoughtfully, dark eyes dancing with the light of the lanterns. “It seems that went as planned, no?”

“Indeed it-”

Lilian finally felt the others snap loose of their shock, and suddenly, they began speaking at once. It was such a jumble of voices that Lilian couldn’t make out a word of it. Laughter overtook her as Isabela slunk in behind her, and Hawke let her head fall back against the pirate gratefully, exhaustion beginning to catch up with her. Isabela smirked, arms tightening.

“I- I’ve never seen anything like that,” breathed Merrill, her eyes so wide Lilian thought they might actually fall from her head. She hoped they wouldn’t. That would be messy. “I didn’t know you could do _that!_ Those people were so angry!”

“That was the point,” and there was Aveline, sniping, her voice hard. When did Aveline ever approve of what she was up to? In truth, Lilian wasn’t even sure why she was here...an overgrown sense of loyalty she supposed, since she surely thought this _mage business_ was madness.

“Hawke’s just incited a riot, and seems all too pleased with herself,” growled another predictable voice, and she just smirked as Fenris stalked closer, trying to loom over her, to make her cower for her audacity. Not bloody likely.

“I did,” she admitted with a grin as she reached out to tweak Fenris’s nose, giggling openly when he slapped her hand away with a growl. “Awww, you didn’t like my speech, sweetling? I gave it _just_ for you.”

“Don’t call me that,” his green eyes narrowed, and there was the briefest hint of light ripping over his markings. Lilian arched a brow at the elf as she held his gaze. It was a game they played too often, Fenris still possessed with some belief that he could actually intimidate her, but when her lips curled suggestively and she arched back against Isabela with a small sway, he flinched and suddenly found the deck very interesting.

Varric’s smooth voice broke the second silence, and he mock-scowled at her with his arms crossed over his lovely chest. “Maker’s breath, Hawke. Couldn’t you have told me first?”

“I could have, but I thought you deserved a good surprise.” Lilian cooed, winking at him. “Wasn’t it you who told me history is just the best stories? I thought I’d give you more to work with.”

“You don’t think I have enough already?”

“Maybe, but you can always use new material, right?” She shot the dwarf a wide-eyed look of innocence before grinning wickedly, dangling temptation in front of him. “This could be the best story in centuries, Varric, and you’ll see it all. And tell it.”

The look he shot her was slightly doubtful. “If the Chantry wasn’t going to kill you be-”

“Lilian.” Until that moment, Anders had been silent, standing where he had throughout the speech. Not a word about that halo of fire, not a question of what she had been doing, just stunned and staring _through_ her. Now, his voice, ragged with raw emotion, broke her jovial mood, and she found his dark eyes locked on her face.

Merrill and Varric both swiveled to look at him curiously, while Fenris turned his back on them, instead leaning out to look at the sea. Aveline was still standing stiff and straight as if she was on duty. Perhaps she was. Perhaps it was her duty to stand there and look disapprovingly at Lilian.

Ignoring her, Hawke stretched out a hand toward the healer and offered a reassuring, if tired, smile. “Yes, Anders?”

“Do you really believe what you said there?” His hands shook, his dark eyes never wavering from Hawke though he moved no closer.

Lilian quirked her brow slightly at him, not quite certain what to make of his reticence or his question, but her throat was suddenly dry and something curled in the pit of her stomach. _Fear._ It was a strange sensation after all that had happened; she had been too angry to be afraid, too defiant to let herself recognize it. Even assaulting a crazed Meredith, she had been more fury than terror, but now, faced by her one of her dearest friends with such a demand in his eyes, she felt it pool at the base of her spine. What if she said the wrong thing?

Her tongue wet her lips, and no one else dared speak, every eye on the two mages, the leaders of this revolution.

“You hesitate,” Anders began to withdraw, and her throat clenched. “Does that mean-”

“No! Anders, listen,” _Please listen_ , her blue-green eyes begged too, and Lilian pushed off Isabela to grab his arm tightly, pulling him a step closer. “You know I’m not sure what I believe about the Maker.”

She felt him begin to crumple. His shoulders slumped, and his chest hollowed before she could go on. “Listen _to me_ , Anders,” she demanded, nails biting at the sleeve of his coat, and he stared at her with dull pained eyes. “But I _do_ believe in this. In you. I do believe that _you_ are a champion of the just.”

All her companions stared, and she wasn’t sure why, unaware of several small tears streaking down her cheeks. “I do believe that Meredith was evil and insane, and turned to stone because of her pride, and that Elthina was a coward and deceiver. I know that more fiercely than I’ve ever known anything in my life, and I know what you did was the right thing. I ...” Blast it, she was crying! What was wrong with her? But the tears refused to stop, even when she swept them away angrily. _Get it together, Lil!_

If it wasn’t for Isabela’s light touch to the small of her back, Lilian wasn’t sure she would have managed a steadying breath. Even with it, her voice was ragged, pleading, “I couched it in terms of Andraste so they would understand just what you did, so they would understand the necessity. So they would _know_ your courage.”

A quiet Tevinter curse was all she heard above the pounding of her heart as she stared at Anders, ignoring the fact that Fenris had just stalked off in a rage. Lilian never felt so bared in her life, those words pouring out of her the absolute truth. Her eyes pleaded with him to understand. His expression was little more than shock, and she felt Isabela’s warm hand soothing gently, the familiar sensation enough to keep her anchored.

“She did it for-” All she heard was the beginning of Isabela’s sharp interjection before she realized Anders was moving. Toward her. Rather quickly, in fact. Lilian’s breath stuck in her throat. Maker’s blood, what _was_ that look on his face? His fingers dug hard into her shoulders, and Lilian braced herself for a sudden shake.

Instead, he just held her there, stripping bare what little mask remained as his eyes scoured her so hard she swore he could see into the back of her skull. She had never been able to lie to Anders, to put him off with mocking dishonesty. He always knew and _always_ called her on it, but this...this was different. It felt as if he was searching for some doubt, some disbelief that she didn’t even know she possessed. Lilian’s head ached with the effort of not blinking.

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but it seemed he would never be satisfied, never look away. As suddenly as Anders’s hands had been on her shoulders, they cradled her cheeks, and Lilian _felt_ rather than saw the smile on his lips. Six years they’d kept a solid line between them, and he obliterated it in less than a heartbeat, his mouth crushing into hers with a low murmur. His fingers curled into her hair, clutching Lilian to his chest, and as her arms wound around his shoulders, she found she didn’t care...whatever purpose the line had served, it was gone now.

The deck swayed beneath her, or perhaps it was her knees, but all she knew was that another warmth pressed up behind her, steadying her. Anders lingered against her lips, parting from her slowly with his mouth slightly open. His fingers against her cheek calmed, and she felt his breath caress her aching lips as he smiled down at her. Lilian hadn’t seen that particular smile in years, and it eased her, that crinkle in the corners of his eyes, the faint twist of his lips, eyes actually twinkling.

Isabela coughed theatrically behind Lilian, and Anders’s head jerked up as the pirate snaked a possessive arm around Lilian, drawing her close. Color suffused his cheeks; he looked faintly horrified until laughter spilled out against Lilian’s back, Isabela’s warm amusement spreading through her until she was giggling too, hand pressed to her lips. Dear Maker, she was feeling slightly hysterical, what with Anders _kissing_ her, the speech and a her lack of sleep.

Anders’s hip suddenly pressed into her, and Lilian looked down, confused until she realized Isabela had hooked her fingers through the mage’s belt and dragged him against Hawke even as the woman’s lips played against the side of Lilian’s neck. She shivered between them, nuzzling into Anders’s hand as her eyes lifted to his face once more, her pleased grin and the tease of her lips on his palm encouraging that smile back to life.

“I do hope,” purred Isabela next to Lilian’s ear, her smirk loud in her voice. Lilian knew _that_ tone all too well, and she winked up at Anders, Isabela’s tug on his belt rocking Lilian between them in the most pleasant fashion. Her toes curled as her lover continued, breath playing over her neck, “you intend to give me one of those too, Anders. I helped her plan this after all.”

His mouth opened once, twice, and Lilian realized she’d never seen him blush quite that spectacularly before. Isabela snickered and caught Lilian’s jaw with her free hand. “Guess I’ll have to take one from Lil instead,” she murmured, lips and tongue just grazing Hawke’s mouth, “this time.”

Isabela’s mouth was warm and demanding in all the right ways, the suggestive touch of her tongue pulling a low moan from Lilian, but it was Anders’s chest she clutched and his fingers curling around her neck. The sensation was utterly surreal, and by the time Isabela let her up to breathe, her legs no longer worked. Only the two of them pressed against her kept her from becoming an undignified pool of mage on the deck. They were doing this to her on purpose! _Of course they were, and why was she complaining about_ that?

“Didn’t,” Her mouth still worked...sort of, the words spilling out in a breathy ragged whisper, “you say something about lightning, Bella?” She smirked up at him as her head lolled back on Isabela’s shoulder, one hand dipping to graze the pirate’s hip slowly.

“Lilian!” Anders choked over Isabela’s delighted laugh. Hawke giggled with her, dark lashes fluttering playfully at the healer, who, despite his protests, had a rather wicked gleam in his eyes.

“What about lightning? You don’t think there’s a storm coming, do you?” A trace of panic hitched in Merrill’s voice, and Lilian choked back a giggle as she buried her face between Anders and Isabela.

“As much as I hate to interrupt this _touching_ scene, Hawke,” Aveline’s voice broke in. Andraste’s hairy arse, couldn’t she at least let them have one pleasant moment? She didn’t sound the least bit sorry! “we have to talk about this.”

Lilian rolled her eyes against Isabela’s’ shoulder. “I thought her getting laid would make this better,” she muttered.

“Hawke! This is serious!” When wasn’t it serious with Aveline? _Hawke, you can’t steal the Knight-Commander’s smalls. Hawke, you can’t swear at the Grand Cleric. Hawke, the next time I catch you and Isabela outside..._

With a sigh, Lilian disentangled herself from the other two and turned to face the irritated guard-captain. Although, she supposed that was now _former_ guard-captain since they weren’t in Kirkwall any longer. “Then talk, Aveline.” She felt Anders and Isabela arrange themselves supportively behind her, and off to the side, she could see Merrill watching attentively with Varric next to her.

The redhead squared her shoulders, and set her powerful jaw stubbornly. Lilian could already feel a lecture coming on. “You just incited a riot! You can’t expect me to stay and watch you do things like that. Especially if you’re going to celebrate,” disgust crept into the words, “ _like that._ ”

“I thought it was a rather appropriate way to celebrate,” Lilian laughed sharply, “and I can expect whatever I want. Whether you’ll stay, however, is entirely up to you, Aveline.”

Aveline pulled an annoyed face at her. “What was the bloody point of that, Hawke?” Her hand shot back toward Ostwick, pointing angrily.

“What was the _point?_ ” Lilian asked incredulously, even though she had _known_ this was coming... She could feel her eyes bulging out of their sockets. “You’ve known me how long, and you have to ask me _that?_ ” She spat with disbelief.

“The point, Aveline, is that we have to make sure _this_ story is heard. Trust me, the blasted Chantry will tell a very different one that’s meant to end with Anders and me dead, cursed by the Maker. We may die anyway, but before that happens I want those people...” she pointed back toward Ostwick too, her eyes blazing. “...to understand. I want everyone _in Thedas_ to have a chance to hear _our_ version of it. This, Aveline, is just the beginning. Mages _will_ be free.”

Anders’s breathing had quickened behind her as she spoke, and she saw Varric’s eyes widening at the unusual venom in her voice. Merrill’s head cocked curiously, and of those facing Lilian, she was the only one to offer even a hint of a smile.

“This is chaos, Hawke!” Aveline growled. “You can’t want this. You can’t _do_ this.”

“I can, and I have, and I intend to keep doing it,” Lilian snapped. “Do you think change comes in neat little rows with polished armor?”

“This was never going to be a peaceful change,” Anders remarked quietly, sounding as weary of the discussion as she was. “The templars and Chantry have too much power. They would never allow it.”

Aveline’s green eyes flashed furiously at him, her anger at the mage still fresh. When she took a step toward him, Lilian slid in front of her, a hand pressed flat against her breastplate. “How can you support him, Hawke?”

“How can I not?” She hissed. “We weren’t left with many choices, were we? You can be angry with Anders all you like, but I still believe he is right as I have said before, clearly, without reservation.” A hint of a purple-black haze laced with snapping blue wriggled around her fingers.

“This has been happening for a long time. He just brought it to a head. Compromise was only prolonging it. Maybe in a month, maybe in a year, maybe in five it would have come crashing down. I don’t know. All I know, Aveline, is that it was coming. It was inevitable.” Each word snapped in her mouth, and she heard the guard hiss softly when she saw the magic leaking from the mage’s fingers. Lilian defiantly kept her hand right where it was. Let her be afraid.

“But what you’re doing is not inevitable, Hawke,” Aveline’s voice was low as she tried to stuff her anger beneath concern.

“Perhaps not,” Lilian suddenly turned from her to sweep toward the railing of the ship with her arms outstretched. “But it’s this or cower in fear that all the pretty boxes that make up our lives are crumbling, Aveline.” A smile crept over her lips, visions of what might be dancing in her mind. All the possibilities. Maybe it would all end horribly, but it didn’t matter. Not right now. “I never really liked the boxes anyway. The templars, the Chantry, the Qunari...they all want to put everyone in their _proper_ place. But this...”

She spun, laughter erupting from her as she loosed a shimmering bolt of spirit out into the sea. “This is freedom, Aveline, and it’s glorious.”

“Hawke is right,” Merrill’s voice rang out firmly, interrupting whatever Aveline had been about to say. Maker bless Merrill. When they’d all doubted her, the Dalish woman still believed.

“Why do you say that, Kitten?” Isabela encouraged gently, obviously more interested in listening to what the elf had to say than Lady Manhands’ ranting.

Color crept to Merrill’s cheeks, but she stood straight, eyes on Aveline. “People need to know the truth, Aveline. It won’t help to keep stacking lies on top of lies.”

“The truth?” Aveline looked like she was about to explode. “Is _that_ what that was?”

“A version of it,” Merrill answered coolly. “Stories help us understand the truths behind them, and that’s what Hawke was doing.” Lilian felt the elf’s shining eyes slide to her, something in the tilt of her jaw reminding her of Marethari and that this girl should have been a Keeper. “Yours is an important story, lethallin,” she pronounced with the air of one making a vow, “And I’ll make sure people hear it.”

Lilian couldn’t help slipping over to the elf, her arm curling affectionately around her shoulder for a warm hug. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“It’s not that simple,” growled Aveline. “This could make it worse.”

“It could,” agreed Merrill, “but it _is_ that simple. You always make it more complicated than it needs to be.”

Aveline opened her mouth, and Lilian vaguely wondered just how angry she would be if a sudden surge of magic sent her flying onto her arse, but then she’d have to deal with more yelling. No magic then. Time to use her words. “Enough.”

An obstinate look crossed the redhead’s face, forcing Lilian to punctuate her command with a glare which came all too easily at that moment. “This is the route I am taking. If you want to be a part of it, fine. If not, then you and Donnic are free to go when we arrive in Hercinia as is anyone else.”

Despite her annoyance, she gently squeezed Merrill’s shoulder, glancing away long enough to offer the girl a faint smile.

“Hawke...”

Lilian pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh. Why were they even still discussing this? “It’s not up for debate, Aveline.”

“As if debate would change anything now,” Varric remarked quietly, and Lilian felt another small flash of concern. She glanced at him with a tight nervous smile. _Don’t you leave me too._ But the dwarf winked warmly at her, “I’m staying, Hawke, don’t you worry. Like you said, best story in centuries. I’ll make sure it’s told.”

Relief crept through her, and her smile loosened. “Thanks, Varric.”

“Anytime, Hawke.”

Weariness and the sway of the deck threatened to topple her, so when Anders stretched out a hand for her, Lilian took it gratefully and wound up leaning against his chest with his arms wrapped protectively around her. Maker, he felt good, steadier than her at the moment and solid, and she didn’t _care_ that Aveline and Anders were glaring at each other over her head. Her arms tightened around his waist as his long fingers glided through her hair, that ghost of magic in his touch making her smile even as she yawned.

Isabela chuckled near her ear, her breath playing over Lilian’s neck as she leaned close. “Go with him. I have to find us a safe place to anchor for the night.”


	3. Wandering in Hopless Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, affection, guilt, and differing opinions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Much love to Drakontion for the hard work as a beta. Also, the scene Lilian references about Orsino is part 3 of this series, so take a look!_

They left the others behind, and Anders kept a protective arm around Lilian’s slim shoulders as he guided her...well, he wasn’t really certain where he should guide her. He thought she was staying in Isabela’s cabin, but letting himself into the Captain’s quarters seemed a bit too presumptuous.

“Below deck,” Anders heard her murmur when he hesitated. She tipped her head up to offer him a tired, warm smile, and his arm tightened around her as he dipped his head to press a light kiss to her forehead.

Before he realized it, her arms had wrapped around his waist, pulling him into a tight hug as she buried her face against his chest. Both his arms wound around her, cradling Lilian to him, and with her so close, he suddenly felt the unsteadiness of her body she was working so hard to hide. He closed his eyes as he brushed his lips against her hair, assuring her he was there, breathing in that wild, magic-tinged scent that was unmistakeably _her_. It felt _good, right_ even to hold her so, but he stumbled over the reproach that never came, his own guilt oddly the only barrier.

Anders couldn’t have said how long they stood there without a word, simply wrapped around one another, her armor allowing him to feel less than he would have liked. Still, he drank in the subtle pulse of her magic thrumming through her, along with her shaky breathing and the way her body sank against his. Unable to stroke her back properly, Anders brought his hand to her hair, playing over one of her pigtails before his fingers wandered the line of her jaw.

With a low content sigh, Lilian nuzzled into his palm before slowly opening her eyes and forcing them to focus, that lop-sided smile of hers back. “Come on,” she breathed, twining her fingers with his. Her tug brought his legs into motion, and Anders had no desire to do anything but follow, his eyes locked on her while the oddly _peaceful_ sensation left by her embrace lingered with him, a disorienting counterpoint to his quickened pulse.

Confidently Lilian pushed a door open and flicked her fingers with a murmur; the lanterns sprang to life revealing a cozy cabin furnished with a small paper-laden desk and comfortable bed. Several trunks crowded the room, but books already filled a small shelf, and familiar trinkets gave it a homey feel.This was clearly _Lilian’s_ cabin rather than just some convenient spot, he realized abruptly.

Anders hadn’t even known she had her own, but if the rest didn’t make it abundantly clear, the curved horn of a staff peeking from beside the bed drove it home. _Stone’s Breath._ That old staff made him smile faintly. Lilian had loved it since the moment Sandal had given it to her, using it long after she had better ones. Somehow, she had managed to bring even it with her; Lilian had obviously been prepared to leave.

“I didn’t realize..” he began, only to have her laugh quietly at the surprise on his face.

“Isabela asked me to come with her weeks ago,” she explained, pulling him further into the little room. “But it wasn’t time yet.”

“Wasn’t time yet?” Anders repeated inanely, staring at her. Really, leaving any time before...everything happened probably would have been ideal. Unless one was Lilian, apparently.

She shot him a bright grin, “I couldn’t leave you behind, could I? And you weren’t done. Now get in here and close the door.”

Her cheerfulness made his head spin slightly, or that could have been from the motion of the ship. Whatever it was, Anders shut the door as asked, that click triggering a sudden churn in his stomach. Nerves were rather absurd at this point, after he’d forced a kiss on her in front of everyone, after he’d spent six years as her healer and mentor, after...everything. This was Lilian, after all, but perhaps that was the problem.

Frozen for the moment, Anders simply watched as she tore off the ties of her pigtails, and her mussed hair fell into her face. Light danced over her silvery tattoos, gleaming in her sea green eyes, still as wild and defiant as ever...and she smiled knowingly at him beneath her heavy-lidded gaze as she turned. His heart clenched, and pure _want_ flooded him. It’d been months, years even, since fierce lust seared his veins, but still, no sharp reproach stopped him, no subtle mental and physical resistance. He felt off balance, as though he’d missed a step, and he shook his head as he sank against the door.

His own guilt remained at least, muting the desire to drag Lilian down on her inviting bed, and he grasped her shoulders gently when she slunk over to him. “We still haven’t talked about-” Anders whispered, wishing he could just keep his mouth _shut_ , but who knew when they’d even have another moment alone.

“About that glorious explosion?” Lilian finished for him, chin pertly tilted up so she could meet his dark eyes. Her tongue clicked at the guilt she read in his gaze, and with one hand, she reached back to free his ragged ponytail. “Or about Meredith and the idol? Can you believe that? Maker, she really was nug-shit insane. I wonder if she started feeding people lyrium. Oh wait!” She smacked her head. “The Chantry already does that to their templars.”

Warmth spread through Anders’s scalp as she finger-combed his hair, but her quiet laughter jarred him. He just stared, watching her lips move as her voice wove around him. “Or Orsino? Really, I thought he was stronger than that. Rawr!” Lilian clawed her fingers like a cat, batting them at his face. “We have to fight! I’m so scared we’ll lose that I’ll use all these bodies and turn on the people fighting for me! Idiot.”

He captured her hand, trying not to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of her rant. “It was an act of desperation,” Anders murmured, trying to salvage something of the topic.

“No,” she disagreed with a tap on his nose, and the healer caught that hand too, somehow finding his arms around her as she spoke, pinning her wrists behind her back with those intense eyes staring up at him. “It was an act of stupidity. He was afraid of being free, just like Fenris, so he caged himself again. He can rot.”

Anders blinked at the comparison, but before he could consider it Lilian’s expression fell, the corners of her lips pulling down. “I can’t believe Isabela and I...”

He stared at her, attempting to grasp what she was implying. His mind resisted the thought, and he found himself stroking her wrists gently. “You and Isabela...” If it weren’t for that brief touch of pain in her eyes or the way her weight rested on him, he might have teased her. Instead, he just lifted a brow questioningly, his head tilted against the door.

She nodded slowly, without any of her usual jokes about her conquests. “Just once,” she whispered, her eyes closing as her fingers curled in his grip. “We snuck in through the tunnels one night,” Lilian attempted to laugh, but it was just a small sad sound, and he clenched his eyes shut against a fresh wave of remorse. “I just...I thought he would...he would.” Her words failed to form, her lips twisting in annoyance as the smaller mage fell silent. Anders was reluctant to break into her thoughts. When she finally resumed, fury rather than grief shook in her voice. “I _thought_ he would fight with us. Void take him!”

“I’m sorry, Lilian,” Anders murmured into her hair, the words feeling all too small in light of all _he_ had done.

Her head shook firmly as she lifted it, blinking her eyes into focus, and Lilian pulled a hand free from his hold to tuck back a strand of blond falling into his face. “It’s not your fault.” Her fingers twisted the lock of hair absently...distractingly.

Anders snorted before he could stop himself, frowning down at her. “It’s not?” His brow shot up, and there was a bitterness to his voice. “Somehow, I think I had a little something to do with it. Or did you..”

Lilian yanked on that bit of hair with a scowl, cutting him off. “Stop it. I know what you did, and I know why you did it better than anyone. I...” Her chin jutted stubbornly, the determined set of her lips demanding his attention as she forced them to form her words properly. “You want me to condemn you for what you’ve done, but I _won’t_ , even if you do.” He wanted to interrupt, to tell her that she _should_ , that he...he didn’t even know what.

Lilian’s hand left his hair to skim along his unshaven jaw, cradling it gently as she held his gaze with defiance; Anders felt the need to pull away from her clear eyes, alert for now after her brief bout of grief and anger. “I’m not blind, Anders. People died because of what you did.” He flinched at her directness.

“And more people will. I _know_ that that will eat at you for the rest of your days. You...” Her tongue touched her lips as she gathered her thoughts into words, her voice softening. “...want, honestly and truly, to make things better, and now you’re not sure if you’ve done that.” Lilian’s head tipped in, her forehead resting against his chin as she leaned against him, her hands slipping around to knead his tight neck. “That’s why you should have let me do it.”

“Because you wouldn’t be plagued by uncertainty, or because you don’t want to make things better?” Anders rasped against her temple, surprised he needed to ask. Six years, and he thought he knew her, but there were moments when he wondered.

“Because I doubt it will be better ultimately,” Lilian answered levelly. “And I won’t be crushed if it gets worse.”

Anders jerked his head up hard enough to collide with the door behind him, and he winced as he stared at her. _“What?”_ Maybe he didn’t know her at all. “Why fight then? Why do all this? Why let so many people die?” Anger surged through him, and he stared at her with dangerous eyes, but she never flinched. “Why practically cast me as bloody _Andraste reborn_ if you don’t...”

Lilian pressed a finger to his lips, and he glowered at her behind it, her calmness infuriating him. “In the end, someone will take control, and they, like the Chantry, like the Tevinter Magisters, like the Qunari, will believe they are right with terrible certainty. They will kill people, they will oppress any that question them.” Anders’s stomach lurched into his throat, and anger gave way to panic that screamed in his veins. His heart pounded is his ears, leaving his chest so tight there was no way he could breathe. Had he really changed _nothing?_ No, that...he couldn’t...

“But right now...” Lilian’s voice was breathless, and he clung to the sound, praying she could show him something other than the Void he saw gaping before him, “...the Chantry’s illusion is shattering. You ripped control from them. There is no certainty. Everyone must question, and for this moment,” Lilian’s hand on his jaw held him together, and her eyes locked hard on his face, “we are free. We have a choice. Mages and templars, kings and common people.”

For a moment, her words rang in the little cabin, but her quiet unsteady laugh broke the spell. He realized she was blushing as she pulled free of his arms and stumbled from the gentle pitch of the ship. With her back turned, Lilian began unbuckling her breastplate. “Apparently I’m still stuck giving a speech, Anders,” she murmured. “This isn’t precisely how I meant...”

Anders felt his mind tipping and staggering drunkenly with her revelations, but he slipped forward, silently helping her with the buckles as he tried to find some stable ground. They worked wordlessly, their breathing loud in the quiet room along with the rasp of leather and the clink of metal. Once she’d stripped down to the thin shirt and leggings she wore under the armor, she leaned back against his chest, and he could feel the shivering she refused to acknowledge.

“I mean,” her voice caught, and he tentatively slid his arms around her to try to allay his spinning thoughts as well as sooth her. Sighing, he rested his chin on her black hair. “I mean, Anders.” Lilian pushed on with a stronger voice, her hands stroking over his arms. “That you’ve given me _hope_.” She twisted to face him, her eyes brilliant as her hands caught his cheeks, forcing his troubled gaze to meet hers.

“Now _anything_ can happen; it’s terrifying and exciting and wonderful. Maybe your legacy won’t be what you want it to be. Surely Andraste’s wasn’t, but we have a _chance_ , for however long. And that’s more than anyone else has given the world in a very long time. That...” Her warm hand tenderly traced over his stubble, and Anders felt almost able to breathe properly again, “is why I’m so proud of you, why I’m happy, why I want this to spread.”

The beatific smile she wore nearly swept away his doubts, but his guilt was tenacious even as he bent to bless her forehead with a light kiss. “Hope? Possibility?” Anders whispered against her smooth skin. “I’m not sure that’s worth...”

“It _is_ ,” Lilian insisted, her words a growl near his throat. “That’s the most anyone can do, but you’ll always beat yourself up for it, which is why you should have let...” He jumped when she suddenly tipped her head up and caught his bottom lip roughly between her teeth. The brush of warm lips countered the tiny sharp pain and came too close to distracting him with her fluttery breath playing over his skin. “...me.”

Retaining control, Anders pulled back, both hands plunging into her hair to keep his lip safe from another impromptu assault. “I’d rather feel guilt over one Chantry than have you gleefully blowing up half of Thedas,” he murmured, surprised to hear a hint of humor in his wavering voice.

Her nose wrinkled, and Lilian squinted at him thoughtfully before a low laugh broke from her. “I suppose you’re right. It’s better this way.”

Anders’s own desire to laugh with her twisted through him unpleasantly, and he shuddered at the idea of him being amused by this whole situation. His forehead fell hard on hers, and he clutched at her, his nails raking her her scalp. “Maker,” he whispered, “how far gone are we that we’re joking about this?” His lips grazed her cheek as he spoke. “People died, Lilian. So many..” He couldn’t breathe, he needed to pull back, but his arms refused to work, terrified if he let go of her, he’d be tumbling _alone_ again.

“It’s done,” she whispered, tilting her head so he was forced to meet her gaze. “And there’s not a sodding thing you can do now to change that, Anders.” Her hands tightened on his back, momentarily fierce as they anticipated the tremor those words wrenched from him. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest crushed to his forced his breathing steady, and his fingers dug against her hair roughly. “And that’s terrifying, I know, but we’re _free_. That’s what we wanted, and you had the courage to break the impasse.” Pride floated on her quiet words, and his mind protested it.

Feeling him tense in objection, Lilian growled, bumping her nose against his. “You did. You threw us off the cliff, and now we’d better learn to fly.” Her words scratched at a memory half-forgotten, something about dragons. “But if you curl up, you’re going to fall like ...like a...a stone and miss the ride.” Her teeth grazed his bottom lip almost irritably, threatening it as a sigh crept from her.

Lilian searched his face, still pressing for some understanding, and Anders caught the rising weariness in her slightly glazed eyes though she still tried to bury it. It silenced whatever else he might have said. He’d made a mess, and here she was doing the best she could to turn it to their advantage while keeping him from shattering to pieces without any respite. Wrenching his guilt under firmer control, he carefully summoned a small thread of rejuvenating magic and slowly swept his hands down her back, letting the cool energy spread through her. He _could_ help her, if nothing else. His skills as a healer were the one thing he didn’t doubt right now.

Just the sight of the tension easing across her shoulders and around her eyes sent a calming wave over Anders, and his chest loosened as his fingers sought the base of her skull. They kneaded firmly, working through knots and easing aches as his forehead just rested against hers, his touches provoking rough shivers as she tried to escape their soothing. Lilian struggled to keep her eyes open, her lids fluttering twice before she lost and a low sound of contentment crept from her.

He lifted his head just enough to press his lips to her brow as he gathered her close. Fatigue trembled through her entire body, his earlier spell swallowed up without making a ripple. A frown crossed his lips as she nestled her head against him, and his fingers buried in her dark ragged hair. “Have you slept since...”

She shook her head, and his arms immediately dipped downward to lift her. That she let him without protest was concerning. Protectiveness for the mage that suddenly felt so small, almost fragile, welled in him; and his hold strengthened to keep him from jostling her too much with the sway of the ship. “Lilian,” he scolded quietly despite welcoming the way she melted readily into him.

“Hasn’t been time,” she muttered against his shoulder, the slur of her voice telling him that his ministrations were breaking through her resistance. Tired as she was, Lilian brushed her lips against his throat, provoking a tremor that she giggled at delightedly.

“You mean,” Anders tried to ignore the warmth her playful kiss and laugh spread through him, but he knew the pitch of his voice gave him away. It was impossible for him to be stern as lowered her onto her back on the bed, half-sitting next to her, “you stayed up the entire time you were supposed to be resting to compose that speech, didn’t you?” He tried for half-hearted disapproval as he peered down at her.

Lilian grinned up at him through drooping lashes, “Was a good speech, wasn’t it? It was worth it! The crowd _loved_ it.”

He just rolled his eyes as he sighed. “This, apparently, is why you need me,” Anders muttered, trying to glower at her.

All attempt at the expression faded when her hand found his cheek, the warm little strokes drawing him to press into her touch before her fingers wound into his loose hair. Intently, Lilian guided his head down, bringing his mouth to hers. Her lips just fluttered against his, light and taunting as she stretched out, and he found himself sliding atop her.

There was nothing left in Anders able to resist, and he sank against her, the tangle of their lips slowly deepening. It was not at all like his harsh demands on deck, this press slow and lingering as the healer explored the mouth that he had longed to taste for years. Lilian’s fingers ghosted along his neck, the prickle of magic left in their wake, and somehow something so simple as a kiss set his skin alight.

Her tongue was warm, soft, and hungry as it crept across his lips, and he let it slide in as his fingers grazed her familiar cheeks as if he’d never touched them before, tips drifting down to adore her jaw and neck with the lightest of caresses. Beneath him, Lilian shuddered, offering a gasp against his mouth as her body warred between sinking wearily into the bed and curving languorously against him.

Anders chuckled quietly against her before lifting his head, one hand sweeping up to brush away the strands of dark hair that threatened to fall into her eyes. “Relax, Lilian,” he murmured, meeting her gaze, and though she melted obediently into the bed, she grumbled softly. Familiar defiance persisted in her eyes, but beneath that, he could still see that same intensity he’d seen on deck, that unshakable faith in _him_. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d missed it before.

He felt another smile curling across his lips, the expression one he’d not worn so much in months, if not years; and he sank down onto the bed next to her on his side. One hand propped up his head while the other draped over her stomach, and Anders couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss her neck. The quiet pleased sound along with the delightful shiver that brought from her encouraged another brush of his lips, and Lilian’s head tilted back as her hand found his hair again, pulling him tighter against her neck. He breathed her in and allowed himself the smallest taste of her, savouring sea salt and a hint of lyrium against the herbal scent that was so very _Lilian_.

There were things he wanted to ask her, things he needed to understand, and that need warred with other less chaste desires; but pressed against her, he could feel the tremors that spoke of a body fiercely fighting to stay awake. That could all wait. Lilian needed rest, despite her resistance to it and whatever else _he_ might want.

She hadn’t always had such difficulty resting, he knew, but in the years since Leandra’s death, she’d slept less and less. Nights when Isabela didn’t join her often resulted in the mage turning up at the door of his clinic, white-faced and shivering after sneaking through the cellars in the dead of night. Anders had never had the heart to turn her away, and she had never objected on the nights he ended up sleeping on the chaise in her library.

Abruptly, he shook himself from his thoughts, aware that she’d tilted her head toward him and was watching beneath lowered lids. Lilian quirked a curious brow at him, and he smiled faintly before leaning in to steal another leisurely taste of her lips. “Roll over,” he murmured.

That she didn’t object or tease still surprised him though he knew how tired she was, and as Lilian sprawled out on her stomach, he used the moment to rid himself of himself of his coat and boots as well as his worn undershirt.

Lilian eyed him with her cheek pressed against the mattress, clearly taking in his bare chest with a pleased smile. “Oh, you wait until I can’t see you as well...” she grumbled, “‘s not fair.”

Anders shook his head as he knelt atop her, straddling her waist. “You’ll see more later,” he promised, “but now, you need sleep.”

“So you’re sitting on me?” Her giggle sounded almost drunk. “Pin me down until I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.”

The sultry hint in her voice played through Anders, but he quashed it for the moment, simply smirking at her. “Perhaps, or maybe..” he laced his fingers together and stretched them out in front of him. “I intend to give you a massage until sleep creeps up on you, as fun as sitting on you sounds.”

“Mmm.” Anders took that for agreement, and she let him pull her shirt off over her head, the light brush of his fingers provoking another uncontrollable shiver.

He rubbed his hands together briskly before laying them on her shoulders, and she sank further into the bed with the warmth, another pleased little sound rising from her. It soothed his unsettled mind as much as her body, and as his hands stroked down her back, he simply concentrated on Lilian.

Tight muscles and knots yielded beneath his practiced touch, and Anders eased away aches left by tension with a wisp of healing. It was so simple, doing something for her, since she soaked it up greedily; but he knew it was rare. Everyone always wanted something from her, and he had been no exception, of course, but astonishingly she’d given him more than he’d ever asked, more than he had ever been able to hope.

 _Hope_. Lilian’s earlier words echoed in his ears as he kneaded across her lower back, dark eyes intent on the pale skinny body beneath him, so small without her relentless energy. Was that what this calm he felt with her was?

His fingers trailed smoothly up her spine, gliding reverently across her shoulders and over her arms as he weighed the thought. It sang to him, called to a part of him that had been buried since ...since it all went wrong with the Wardens. Anders shook his head at himself. Andraste’s arse, he was a blind fool. Lilian had been offering it from the moment she walked into his clinic, and it took him this long to see it?

He sank down atop her, chest resting against her back as he laced his fingers through hers, holding her hands tightly. With his cheek pressed against her temple, he breathed deeply before offering a single kiss. “Thank you,” he whispered, pinning her gently with his weight.

A knowing smile crossed Lilian’s nearly slack face, and her shoulders lifted slightly into his chest. Anders slid his arms around her and rolled onto his side, dragging her with him and curling up behind her. The massage, warm arms to comfort her, a good night’s sleep...it was the least of what he could give her. He had taken so - lingering guilty thoughts slammed to a halt, more of what she’d said earlier whispering in his ears.

 _You’ve given **me** hope._

Huh.

Anders drew his attention back to Lilian, belatedly realizing she’d gone utterly limp in his arms, her breathing shallow and steady. Carefully, he shifted to let her rest more comfortably, and he closed his eyes as he nuzzled into her neck, breathing in her sweet wild scent, her restfulness seeping into him. Sleep would come for him eventually, and for now...this.

By the time thunder rumbled in the distance, dreamless rest had claimed them both.


	4. Everything is Broken up and Dances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weathering a storm on the Waking Sea. A peek at Isabela's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Much love to Drakontion for the hard work as a beta._

The sea whispered even in her sleep, cradling her through her dreams only to wake her with the first choppy waves. _Storm coming,_ breathed the ship. Isabela knew it was true, and it wasn't just the one if the last few days were any indication. She could taste the electricity in the air as she stretched beneath her blankets alone, and before the sun even began to lighten the clouds, the captain strode on deck.

Here and there, lace dotted the waves in warning, and the wind's fingers tugged insistently, drawing her to the railing. Pulling a deep breath of the heavy air, she lifted her eyes to read the clouds. They blanketed the sky so thickly that she doubted the day would truly dawn, instead offering just a lighter shade of gray. Damp was in the air, and the waves slapped against the hull, but so far, rain held off. It would be a quick storm, she thought, but fierce as squalls so often were on the Waking Sea.

 _Stay or run?_ Her practiced eye weighed their position as she caressed the railing soothingly. The water ran deep in this little cove, a ribbon of land curling around to protect them from the worst of the waves and the wind. She had sent the ship's anchor deep before sleeping, and it still held them secure. An additional three would hold them fast against the weather bearing down on them. "We stay, sweet thing, and sail another day," she murmured, wandering to the wheel.

The ship bobbed her agreement, and Isabela laughed. "Our first storm together, yes? So eager." She just touched the wheel, letting it whisper of the strains her ship already faced, how it rolled to meet them. "Mmm, I know you shall weather it well, my love, but our friends may not be so pleased. Be gentle to them."

Isabela roused the rest of her crew, and the dance began, men swaying in time with the pitch of the deck. They knew the steps well and required only the occasional direction from their captain to make the ship ready.

As thick as the clouds were, they began to change as the sun rose over their backs, bathing the sea in gloomy light. The wind quickened, and the ship rolled, all that white lace scattering about her hull before the first fat drops of rain fell on her deck. The air crackled, and Isabela tilted her head back, smiling at the clouds, relishing the old familiar reel of a ship on rough seas.

"And here I thought you'd be racing around to get things ready," a familiar voice purred behind her, drawing a slow smile from her.

"I must be getting lax if you can sneak up on me," Isabela murmured, shivering as lips brushed along her neck. Such a delicious tease, her Lil, and the pirate's head canted to the side, inviting another lingering kiss.

"Mmm, I think you're distracted by another lover," Lilian whispered, her breath warm as the chill wind rippled over them, her teeth just threatening skin.

"Jealous?" Isabela cooed, the cant of her head altering so she could glimpse that mobile tattooed face. "I promise I'll-"

Shrieking wind tore her words away, and the ship lurched violently. Lilian clutched at her with a delighted laugh, the sound spilling into a squeal when a torrent of cold rain lashed over them. It left them both shivering, and as much as Isabela wanted to bury herself against the warmth of Lilian and simply ride out the storm with her, the ship demanded her attention.

"Hold on to one of the ropes," she told the mage as the wind swirled around them, yanking at hair and chilling through damp clothes. "And grab the Kitten too before she washes overboard."

Merrill had crept out on deck too, her big eyes wide as she tottered uneasily on the tipping deck. Lilian swooped in on the woman and swiftly wrapped an arm around her, Isabela watching as the mage murmured reassurances to the shaking elf.

Her lover's easy delight in the whipping wind and thunder held Isabela's interest for a long moment, but the ship's insistence tore her away. _No time to get distracted_ , she murmured, and Isabela held tight to the wheel.

Furious waves crashed into the rocking hull, and even her seasoned crew had to hold tight as the fierce storm battered against the ship, tugging at the masts, wood creaking and groaning. No one bothered speaking over the crashing thunder, and for a fair time, Isabela was alone with her ship, eyes slitted to protect against the driving rain as it hammered against her skin and face, her body rolling with the ship. Bliss...how she'd missed...

A sudden crack of something slamming into wood snapped her from her reverie, and the captain spun toward the sound, gripping the wheel to keep her balance. _Shit! No! not again!_

It took her a moment to realize the sound had been on deck, not the hull, and as she blinked through the rain, the scene began to emerge. Lilian stood, her legs braced hard against the rocking of the ship, her hands outstretched and shimmering with the last of a spell while one of the crew lay sprawled on the deck near a shattered bit of railing and deck. The mage's lips twisted in a snarl, and eyes that could be so bright darkened dangerously as she struggled to keep her balance. Merrill, however, was no where to be seen.

Isabela's blades were in her hands before she even realized it, and the bastard who had apparently attacked Lilian was now flailing in the air above the deck, the mage's upraised hand eerily steady. She spared a questioning glance for Isabela, and the captain nodded, well aware that most of the crew on the rocking deck was now watching.

Lilian's hand swept through the air, and the sailor flew out into the roiling sea as easily as a twig, his splash lost in the high surf. _One man offered to the sea, how many more?_

"Maker-forsaken witch! She'll drown us all!" came a wail close behind Isabela, and her own twitching nerves had her blade at his throat before he could blink.

"This little storm? I thought you were a seasoned seaman," she hissed, the tip of her dagger opening the tiniest of cuts beneath his scraggly beard. "I've seen worse in my bath." From the corner of her eye, she saw one of the senior crew slipping forward, and he gave her a small nod before twisting the man's hands behind his back and hauling him to the bilge.

None of the rest of the crew appeared to think it was wise to cross the captain and her mage first mate, most flinching as Isabela sharply turned her eyes on them, glaring through the stabbing rain. When it seemed none of them were about to try that nasty trick again, Isabela turned around to check on Lilian and found that she'd acquired the help of one of the younger sailors. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

The two of them were hauling on a rope up over the side, and Isabela bounded over to help, the pitching of the ship beginning to slow. Rain still poured down on them, but it was difficult to get any wetter, and the lightning faded into the background as she realized that Merrill was clinging desperately to the other end, thumping against the side of the ship.

 _Oh, Kitten._

Their hands slipped on the rope, making progress painfully slow, and when a sudden lurch of the ship undid half their progress Lilian hissed. "Hold on," she growled at them, shaking her burning fingers. Isabela quirked a brow at her as another faint glow bloomed around her hands. Teeth gritted, the mage lifted her hand, and Merrill flew into the air much the way the sailor had, but unlike him, she slowly floated back toward the deck and was deposited carefully onto the ship. Lilian's whole body trembled with the effort to control her descent. That particular spell begged to be released with a slam, Isabela knew.

Lilian looked almost as glassy-eyed as Merrill, and Isabela wrapped a reassuring arm about her lover, pulling her down toward the elf so they could tend to her. Pleased surprise struck her when she saw that the dark-haired sailor was already cradling the elf's head gently, but she couldn't help noticing his uncertain glances at Lilian.

Isabela squeezed his shoulder firmly, hervoice pitched low and calming. "Good man, Sal. Think you can handle a bit more magic? Lil can heal too." He nodded nervously, his hair plastered to his skull. _I owe that one a pint. Or seven._

Blood coated Merrill's thin hands and face while her head lolled as if she couldn't hold it up; though her eyes were still open, just holding on to consciousness. Lilian's hands already glowed pale blue, and she seemed utterly unaware of the last cries of the storm as she began probing for Merrill's injuries. She hissed quietly as her hands hovered above the woman's head, frustration etched in the set of her jaw.

A clatter of feet and voices rose on the deck, and Isabela jerked her head up to find Anders, coat hanging open and hair loose, backed by the others all armed and looking rather green as they burst into view. The healer's eyes were wild as he took in the scene, and without hesitation, he shot over to kneel at Merrill's other side, ignoring how he teetered with the unsteady ship.

"I felt magic," Anders answered Isabela's unspoken question briskly before his full attention turned to Merrill.

Lilian sank against her in relief, and Isabela tightened her arm about the mage, unable to resist planting a soothing kiss on her hair. "You did well, sweetness," she whispered. "She'll make it." Lilian just shivered against her, pigtails stuck to her neck, her delight in the storm crushed.

Varric slid down beside the sailor, talking quietly to him. Isabela caught the occasional calming word, and when he met her eye, she knew he saw her appreciation. Aveline and Donnic ranged themselves around the knot on the deck, eyeing the crew as if they planned to attack any moment. And Fenris... Fenris just stared silently at Lilian trembling against her, and Isabela was surprised to see poorly disguised worry in his eyes.

"What happened?" he asked roughly, but Lilian seemed not to hear him, the mage intent on Merrill as Anders worked on her, her own hands still shimmering as she reached in to help where she could. Isabela caught the tight reassuring smile the healer offered Lil, and she stroked a hand over her back.

"A couple of the men decided the storm was the wrath of the Maker," Isabela told them, her fury at a low boil. The sound of Donnic retching over the side _again_ nearly swallowed her words. Poor sod. He'd hardly made it out of the cabin he shared with Aveline since they left Kirkwall.

Thankfully, the short squall continued to fade, the rain becoming a drizzle as the wind struggled in sharp gusts.

"So they thought drowning two mages might help?" Varric broke in. None of his usual smiles crossed his broad face, and his hand curled tightly into Merrill's shoulder.

"Don't you know we're cursed?" muttered Lilian without looking up from Merrill who was shuddering with wet and cold and the magic streaming through her. She still looked terrible, her mouth twisted in pain while Anders held onto her head, murmuring under his breath.

"I'll deal with it." Irritation at herself crept through Isabela. She should have seen this coming. She should have known her crew better. It certainly wasn't fear that it could have been Lilian over the side that made her arm guide the mage closer, _no not at all_ ; it was just that her lover was cold and distraught.

With a violent gasp, Merrill sat up, protesting at Anders who was determinedly wiping what remained of the blood from her face with a rag. He held her jaw like she was a stubborn child, peering into her eyes until he was apparently satisfied. Shuddering, she scooted over to lean against Varric with a shy appreciative smile for the young sailor, Sal.

"Are you hurt, Hawke?" Merrill asked shakily as the dwarf wrapped sturdy arms around the elf and pressed a terribly gentle kiss to her hair.

Lilian looked dazed, but shook her head. "I need to go see if any of the crew are injured." The toneless quality in her voice jerked Isabela's attention to her sharply, and she brushed a wet strand of hair behind the mage's, that pale skin chilled beneath her fingers.

"I can do that, Lilian," Anders offered quickly, his eyes fraught with concern. Isabela could practically _smell_ the worry rolling off the healer, his dark eyes locked immovably on Lilian.

"No, stay with Merrill. Someone has to take care of her. I..." her tonguetip traced her lips. "I need to do this."

Her weary eyes lifted to Isabela, and the pirate couldn't resist pressing a soft reassuring kiss to her trembling mouth. "You do. They need to trust you, Lil," she agreed, stroking gently over one of her bedraggled pigtails. "But then you should rest."

Reluctantly, Lilian nodded, and Isabela let her hold on the woman loosen, offering only a firm squeeze to her hand as her gaze followed the mage. When she rolled to her knees to stand, Fenris extended a hand to help her up. She stared blankly at it, and Isabela felt her brow rise questioningly. The former slave was not one for gallant gestures, especially when it came to their beloved Hawke.

"I'm coming with you," the elf informed Lilian, grabbing her hand to pull her to her feet.

"No. I don't need a minder," the mage snapped back, but she did, Isabela noted, use his support to rise even if she did snatch her hand free quickly.

"Apparently you do," he remarked, the fairly mild tone of his voice belied by the challenge in his green eyes.

Lilian shot him a fierce glare. "Why do you even-"

"If I wanted you dead, Hawke, I wouldn't be here," Fenris cut her off with a growl, "And I will protect you, mage or no. I _thought_ that was clear." He sounded offended, but when didn't he when speaking to Lilian?

Isabela tilted her head at the pair of them, faintly worried that Lilian had no response for that. Had this shaken her so badly? The mage simply stared at him for a moment more before turning on her heel and stalking toward several of the crew with Fenris close to her shoulder. Of which one her crew should be more terrified, Isabela couldn't tell at the moment; both looked more than a little volatile.

She gathered Sal and headed to deal with the ship and sailors as well, her doubts about her men whispering quietly in the back of her head. Some of them would be leaving when they docked in Hernicia ... if not before.

With a grim mood hovering over the deck, they weighed anchor and resumed their trek toward the small port city. Isabela's poor ship limped slightly from her brief battering, but the wind was steady and the seas clear for the moment. _I'm sorry, love, we'll do repairs soon._

Once they were well underway, Isabela gave over the wheel to one of her senior men so she could take a quick turn about the deck to inspect the damages from the storm.

Unsurprisingly, at the bow that she found Lilian, her legs dangling over the railing, her eyes on the horizon. From the corner of her eye, Isabela caught Fenris trying to stay out of Lilian's awareness, the elf's green eyes sweeping the deck as he remained stiffly on guard, his hand occasionally straying to his sword; and while some privacy appealed to her, she'd rather have Fenris watching than someone surprise them. She didn't need another dead sailor. Still, she observed him for long enough that Fenris felt her gaze on him, and he regarded her levelly before shifting enough that he'd not be staring at the pair of them.

Her attention turned back to Lilian, and Isabela realized that the mage had changed into dry clothes, a simple loose shirt and trousers and her wet hair hung free, drying in the sun. Her shoulders held that unusual, but recognizable, tilt that spoke of her wish to be alone, but if Isabela knew anything about her lover, it was that when she wanted to be alone, it was usually the worst thing for her.

Undaunted by her pose, the pirate boldly wrapped her arms around Lilian, laughing quietly in her ear when the mage startled. Blue-green eyes turned to stare at her, and Isabela couldn't help but feel a little smug at the warm expression that rose in them. They closed loosely, and Lilian pressed her shoulders back with a small sigh.

"The men are fine," she murmured after a few moments of silence, "well, mostly fine. There were only a few injuries and none I couldn't heal except for one who wouldn't let me." Her frown was audible, but Isabela just nodded, touching the mage's hair with her lips.

Lilian heaved another long breath and hung her head, her hair falling into her eyes. "I'm sorry about the ship, Bella. I didn't mean..."

"Shhh," Isabela murmured, tugging her into a tighter embrace. "She knows you meant no harm, and she'll be fine," the pirate assured her, injecting warm humor into her voice, "but if it makes you feel better, you can apologize to her. I'm sure she'll listen."

Lilian lifted her head, Isabela nearly laughing at the doubtful look on her face. The pirate winked at her and leaned in to nip at her bottom lip. "She will. I think she actually likes you, a little at least."

The little bite had the intended effect, Lilian instinctively trying to catch Isabela's lip with her own teeth. "If you say so," she growled playfully, much of that earlier slump already gone.

Isabela snatched a handful of hair, pulling the mage back with a grin. "I do."

Lilian regarded her thoughtfully, arched back against her hand. "Did you ever decide on a name for her?"

The pirate damned herself for the sudden hesitancy that gripped her and forced herself to nod with a knowing smile. "Mmm, I did, and I think she likes it."

Lilian lifted a brow quizzically, waiting, but Isabela had to force herself to actually say the name. Foolish. "Seaspirit."

That damnable eyebrow rose almost into the mage's hairline, and the pleased surprise in her voice was audible while the corners of her mouth teased upward. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Isabela tugged her hair roughly, trying, and failing, to sound annoyed, "Don't read too much into it."

Lillian grinned knowingly before her tongue danced over her lips in invitation. "I wouldn't dream of it, Captain," she whispered with mischief thick in her voice.


	5. Jumped, Humped, Born to Suffer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris vs. Lilian. The gang makes it to Hernicia. Also, the war will apparently have lights and music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Big thanks to Drakontion for her hard work as a beta._
> 
>  _This story has managed to surprise me often so far, and this chapter is no exception. I originally had no plans for a chapter from Fenris's POV, but it didn't want to be told any other way. So! Enjoy Fenris!_

Fenris hung back from the railing as they neared Hernicia in the late afternoon, silently watching the sailors and Hawke. None of the sailors had even dared approach her since he had taken his proper role guarding her. It was all to the good.

His eyes slid back to her, and his hand clenched. She looked so damned _content_ ... happy with her head tilted back to drink in the sun. Nothing of her earlier fear or anger even lingered with her now, those emotions gone as quickly as the storm. It made his teeth grit, knowing just _how_ she had shed those emotions.

He hated listening, hated hearing the delighted gasps and cries that spilled from Hawke, hated the low murmur of Isabela's voice that never carried clearly, hated ...but no, he had made his choice; Hawke had never forgiven him. Fenris knew he should have left the deck entirely when Isabela gave him _that_ look, but a debt kept him there...as it had in the years since he had made that choice. Somehow, that debt seemed only to grow as the years went by.

He had heard them often enough since Hawke had fallen into the pirate's arms, the pair slipping into back alleys or pressing against trees or wherever the mood struck them without thought for the danger they exposed themselves to. He had even waited outside the Hanged Man the first night Hawke had stumbled into Isabela's quarters, intending to see her home safely when their "exertions" ended. Dawn had risen without Hawke, and he had left struck with the realization that _she_ had actually stayed the night.

Fenris shook his head to break free of the thoughts and focused on Hawke near the rail once more, just in time to see Anders, along with Merrill and Varric, join her. Hawke beamed widely at them, and he nearly growled when she welcomed the healer with an achingly sweet kiss. Fenris could almost feel the way her fingers brushed the strands of blond from _his_ face, and his teeth clenched again.

How was he supposed to protect her from _that_? He _knew_ what Anders was, what he could do; but so did Hawke, and still she treated him like a friend, like something _safe_ , and apparently now even welcomed him to... His eyes squeezed shut against the scene and the swiftly rising frustration with their damned leader.

Hawke's voice chimed as she spoke to the others, and he caught a few of the words: "epic poem" standing out. Varric's rumbling laugh provided a deep counterpoint, and the elf watched her grin persuasively at the dwarf while Anders shifted uncomfortably, Hawke's arm about his waist preventing escape.

Realization struck Fenris like a fist, her speech flashing in his mind again and now a need for a poem that Anders wasn't precisely comfortable with. _No. No. No._

Suddenly, they were all staring at Fenris. Had he spoken aloud? Hawke's eyes had that stubborn look in them again, and they pinned to his face. "Something wrong, Fenris?" she asked in that infuriatingly casual way she had.

He _tried_. He really tried to bite his tongue, but the memory of Anders wreathed in flame while the crowd howled was too recent and her eyes were too infused with a challenge. Something cold and dark twisted in the pit of his stomach, slithering up his spine, whispering in his thoughts, seething until it simply _snapped_ inside him. He glared between Hawke and the healer, Varric and Merrill forgotten as a furious snarl erupted from him. "How can you _do_ that? How can you stand up there and cast _him_ as a hero?" He pointed at Anders, and the mage just regarded him coolly, trying unsuccessfully to hide the guilt in his eyes.

Hawke's eyebrow quirked upward curiously, and she laughed. The bloody woman _laughed_. "He _is_ a hero," she retorted calmly. Her chin lifted, and Fenris knew he had started it.

Anders, at least, had the grace to look embarrassed. "Lilian-"

Hawke just ignored the healer and took a small step toward Fenris. Their eyes locked, and she spoke, enunciating her words carefully so he wouldn't miss a single inflection. "He has more courage than you've _ever_ had."

And Fenris hated that most of all. How she could tear him down with just a few words. How she could make him doubt himself. How she could make him feel utterly the coward. Fury blazed through him, and he growled. "You know nothing-"

"And neither do you!" She snapped back, all pretense at calm shattering. "Oh, wait, except for flashes. That you're too frightened to even _explore_."

"Well, isn't this awkward," muttered Varric behind her to the other two.

"I am _not_ afraid," hissed Fenris, his hands balling into fists. Maker be damned, he never understood how Hawke could get under his skin so easily. He didn't _want_ to snarl at her, but here he was, his heart pounding and anger that he couldn't escape rolling in waves through him.

Hawke snorted and shot him a disbelieving look. "Right! You're all glowy because you want to give me a _hug!_ "

Varric, damn him, stifled a surprised laugh, while Merrill stared on horrified, and Anders...well, the sodding abomination looked irritatingly _protective_.

Fenris said nothing, trying to push away the fury that his body was reacting to so obviously.

"You're the same, you know," Hawke stated plainly, and he felt her eyes weighing his reaction while Anders stared at her in disbelief.

"We are nothing-" rumbled Fenris.

"Yes." Hawke cut him off ruthlessly. "You both want to be free. Have you ever _bothered_ to ask Anders what happened to him in the Circle? Have you ever bothered to wonder _why_ he needed to accept Justice's help?" Her voice surged louder with each question, the mage spitting them out so quickly and furiously that he had no chance to answer. "Or do you just look at him and assume because he's a mage that he deserves every terrible thing that's happened to him? That he _wanted_ to invite a spirit in?" She paused for a breath, daring him to so much as nod. When he didn't, she jabbed his chest hard anyway. "But _he_ had the courage to break free!"

No proper words would form, and Fenris felt himself seething, the shimmer around him pulsing dangerously. That voice that had risen nearly shrilly dropped now into a low enraged whisper. "And you hate him for _that_." He never looked away from Hawke, his lips curled in a feral snarl. But she pressed on, her words rhythmic and forceful, Hawke as always too proud to be afraid of him. "You go on and on about how mages turn to blood magic or demons when backed into a corner, but what about you, Fenris? Didn't you fight with everything available to you when Danarius was hunting you? Even lure innocents into a trap? You're no better-"

"You are hardly innocent!" He growled, finally managing to break into her rant.

"And you're deliberately missing the point!" Hawke's voice rose in protest, nearly yelling over him.

Fenris drew a breath, narrowing his eyes at her as he tried to force his voice calm."Anders started a _war_. He-"

"I _know_ what he did, Fenris." Impatience laced Hawke's words. "I was there."

"Standing right here you know," muttered Anders, but Fenris and Hawke both ignored him.

"Hawke! He's an _abomination_!" Sometimes he just wanted to shake her, and his frustration echoed in his speech. "He is-"

"No!" Hawke's voice snapped, harsh and loud. "He is _not_ an abomination, no more than you are or I am. He..." she pointed "...is trying to _free_ mages. Trying to keep _me_ free. Some things are _worth_ fighting wars over!"

"Hawke, mages _are_ dang-"

"Do you think _I_ don't deserve to be free?" Hawke hissed, and he stood his ground when she stalked so close to the elf that their noses nearly touched. He could feel the her breath on his skin, the tingle of her rising magic making his tattoos itch. " _People_ ," her voice dipped into a steely whisper close to his mouth, "do terrible things, with or _without_ magic."

Around her hands, a dangerous purple black aura wavered, hints of ice blue crackling through it, and he fought viciously to keep from shoving her away. "Do you think because I support mages, because I _am_ a mage, I deserve to be locked up?" Hawke's eyes searched his hard, her voice as intense as her gaze. "Just because I _might_ become a demon that I should lose everything?" Though her voice was quiet, he felt it in his bones, vibrating and insistent. "That _they_ have the right to make _me_ Tranquil if they choose?"

And that was it, what it _always_ came down to with her. The one thing that terrified her, the one thing she had made them all promise solemnly to kill her if it happened. The idea of her flat-eyed and resigned made Fenris sick, not Hawke, not _Lilian_. If that came to be, he had _failed_ somehow, his debt unpaid.

Anger began to ebb with his efforts and her words, that blaze of colour across her cheeks and her wide hurt eyes forcing his fury down. He never _meant_ to hurt her, but it still happened... all the time. "You know that's not what I meant, Hawke," Fenris tried to soften his voice, but it still came out roughly.

"It certainly sounded like it," she spat at him. Shaking her head, she turned away to expel her building magic over the water, and Anders laid a protective arm around her trembling shoulders. The healer shot him a sharp glare; Fenris couldn't help baring his teeth at him.

"We have to do this, Fenris," Hawke's voice was gentler now but still thick with emotion. "Anders and I. We can't turn back. I don't _want_ to turn back," she swallowed, "but you can..."

"No, Hawke," he broke in quickly, scowling at her. "I can't."

Her doubtful eyes lingered on his face, but she apparently saw something that convinced her. Hawke gave a small brusque nod before sinking back into Anders who seemed far too happy to wrap his arms around her.

Fenris kept his distance as the buildings on shore grew from tiny smudges to proper stone structures. He had little interest in them. His attention focused mainly on the crew, ensuring that none came too close to Hawke and her pet abomination as the sailors worked to bring the ship into port. Isabela caught his eye once, and gave him awarning _look._ Clearly _someone_ had heard the earlier argument.

He sighed and focused on the city irritably as it came into view, searching for threats. It was a dirty place, smaller than Kirkwall, and he noted the lack of templars on the docks. There were few guards to be seen too; and while there were people about, the city seemed hushed, waiting.

No doubt word of Kirkwall had reached them, but how much more? Fenris scanned the shore, but no one seemed particularly interested in the ship. All to the good if they were to spend a few days there as he suspected. As the crew secured the ship, Hawke beckoned to him along with the others scattered across the deck. Fenris joined the party going ashore, stationing himself directly behind Hawke's shoulder despite Anders's intention of taking that spot.

The two shared a glare as they disembarked, but otherwise reached the square one of the a dockworker had directed them to without incident. Fenris doubted he would be able to say the same for the rest of the night. Already Hawke was slinging balls of light into the air with abandon as Anders and Merrill watched her nervously.

"Come on, you two. We can't have it dark here. How will people-"

"Do you really think it's wise to announce our presence, Hawke?" Aveline sounded as exasperated as he felt, and he shot their wild mage a questioning look.

She just grinned at them both. "Subtlety has never been my strength."

Isabela snorted and winked at her, and Fenris shook his head. On the other side of the square, two sailors were taking out pipes and a hand drum. Apparently, the war would have _lights_ and _music_. If Hawke wanted to draw attention to them, she was succeeding, and there was little Fenris could do other than slip close to her shoulder.

"You're hovering," she muttered at him.

"You're trying to get yourself killed," he growled back. She just shrugged, and the elf gritted his teeth at the gleeful display of magic. The globes they had raised bathed the area in warm light, and she looked smug as she noticed some of the townspeople starting to trickle in toward the square.

"If you want to help, you could glow too," she teased, laughing when he glared at her. "You would look more festive then." Before he could jump back, she planted a kiss on his nose then wandered off to help the abomination lay out his healing supplies on a blanket. Irritably, the elf rubbed his nose and followed after her.

It was a surreal atmosphere, the soothing light, the pleasant strains of music beginning to rise, and all of it under a thick layer of magic. It made his skin crawl, and he was filled with certainty that this would not end well for any of them.

Hawke had gotten away from him _again_ , and he scowled when he saw she had slipped outside the ring of light to talk to a few of the gathered folk. Fenris stalked over to her, resisting the urge to drag her back by her pigtails.

When he got close though, he saw Varric standing next to the man Hawke was speaking to, both of them looking worriedly at a whimpering child in townsman's arms. Hawke's voice was pitched low and soothing, earnestly promising the man that he needed no coin. They were just there to help.

"Demon!" The cry came from a ruddy haired woman running toward the square, her glower fixed firmly on Hawke. The woman's hand flew, and a rotten fish head splattered against Hawke's shoulder, bits of fish spraying on to Fenris's face. Ignoring the stench and disgusting mess, he reached for his sword, and Varric reached for Bianca, but Hawke raised a hand to stop them.

Calmly, she wiped at her shoulder and stared at their attacker. "I am not the demon here, mistress. I have _seen_ demons." Hawke's eyes widened as she spoke in a low firm voice, and Fenris knew she was unaware of just how fierce his glare was behind her.

It was Fenris the woman looked at, blanching, not Hawke, and he snarled silently at her.

"We are here only to offer healing and news. To serve," Hawke continued earnestly, speaking to all those close enough to hear. "You would not injure your neighbor's son, would you, mistress?"

The woman stared at her with cold-eyed fury, but said nothing. Hawke moved her appeal to the others who were less comfortable, and some of them she even shamed into looking away.

"The Maker will judge you, _mage_ ," spat another voice, but Hawke merely smiled.

"He will judge us all," the mage countered smoothly. Too smoothly, by Fenris's experience. She held tight until she cracked, but for now her voice was lilting as she quoted the Chant:

" _Those who steal from their brothers and sisters  
Do harm to their livelihood and to their peace of mind.  
Our Maker sees this with a heavy heart."_

The scowls on a few faces deepened with that, but a good number eased as well, and there were even a couple of relieved expressions as she invited them in to the light.

Still, she could never convince everyone, and as Varric began making people comfortable, Fenris stood behind Hawke. They both watched a large handful of doubters disappear down the street.

"They'll be back," he murmured. "And it won't just be them."

"I know," she answered quietly. "Keep a sharp eye. We'll have company soon." The momentary pressure of her hand on his arm was as close as she got to an apology or appreciation with him these days, and he didn't pull away. As she turned to join Anders, she met Fenris's eyes briefly, and he could see the weight of all she was doing in her gaze before she buried it beneath her usual twinkle.

For a time, Anders and Hawke were able to heal the sick and injured brought to the square, more turning up as the evening grew late. They answered questions about Kirkwall, and he heard Hawke telling compelling stories about the abuses the mages faced there. She always picked an individual mage that she knew of and spoke regretfully of tranquility and mistreatment, how the Templars in Kirkwall were going against Chantry Law, how no one had intervened.

This was not the rabble-rouser of Ostwick, but a worried woman who didn't want this to happen to her friends and neighbors. As she began to speak of Meredith's madness, Fenris caught the glint of armor down one of the streets

"Hawke..." he warned. She turned toward the direction he looked. Fewer than a dozen templars were bearing down on them led by a woman in Chantry robes and backed by a goodly number of townsfolk.

The Revered Mother's voice rang out over the music, _"Magic exists to serve man and never to rule over him."_

Hawke just looked _amused_. "All I see here is magic serving man, Revered Mother," she challenged with a knowing smile as she rose, her chin up.

And it began, _again._ Fenris pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead... _Festis bei umo canavarum._


	6. Words Dissemble, Words Be Quick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chantry confrontation as promised, and an old friend shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Note: I had intended to write to a schedule, but that just isn't happening right now. I only managed to get out half of what I had planned for this chapter, but I didn't want to leave it hanging (and I think it would have gotten really long). Anyway! My point is, I'm still shooting for weekly updates, but sometimes it may be a bit longer even with me working on this steadily. Thanks for reading!_
> 
>  _Much thanks to Drakontion for the hard work as a beta._

" _Foul and corrupt-"_ continued the Revered Mother rather than answer her. Coward. The last of the music faded away, as did the voices. The square fell into thrumming silence. Fear, uncertainty, she could taste them in the air. But people had to know. They had to see.

Lilian lifted her voice to quote the Chant with her, inflections different from the usual mindless flow. " _Foul and corrupt are **they**_ ," her words accused the Chantry as surely as the Chantry accused her. " _Who have taken **His gift**_ ," she threw the phrase into the night like a gauntlet. They called it a curse. Everyone called it a _curse_ , but it was not. Not until they made it so. " _And turned it against **His children**_."

The Revered Mother stared at her, anger in the woman's dark eyes at Lilian's effrontery. Lilian merely smiled sweetly at the greying woman a good two decades her senior. The mother was off-balance, uncertain how to answer the charge. Off-balance was good.

"I tell you again," this time Lilian delivered the words with quiet steel, forcing the woman and the crowd to lean in to hear her. "We are here to serve men, to use _His gift_." She paused, daring the mother to contradict her. "Do you see us harming _anyone_?"

Before the Revered Mother could answer, Lilian heard a quiet uncertain voice from near Anders. "They healed my boy, Mother Delia," grateful tears rang in the woman's cry. "My Riley. They wouldn't take no coin neither."

 _Maker bless you, my good lady._

The Revered Mother flinched, but before she could speak, another chimed in weakly, telling of how they had eased his pain. Some wounds couldn't be healed, but they had done their best. Lilian didn't dare take her eyes off this Mother Delia and her templars, but she caught sight of Isabela slipping around behind them even if they didn't.

Fenris, she knew, lingered behind her shoulder, ready to charge at the first sign of attack. The rest were nearby, Aveline wearing a scowl, Anders still close to the young woman he'd been healing. Lilian could have pointed to each of them without looking, having fought so long with them.

These templars were no match for her friends.

"They will bring demons down on us!" howled a different voice, and Lilian recognized her _admirer_ from before. Ahh, yes, the ruddy-haired woman who had run to the Revered Mother. "And then what good is their healing?"

 _Not so many blessings on you._

"Mage-lords!" spat a deep bass. "They will doom us!"

Voices rose on both sides, defending and accusing, growing shriller by the moment.

"What say you, Revered Mother?" Lilian demanded with a twist of magic that made her voice loud over the crowd. The templars all focused on her, and she gave them a nasty smile. "Demons or healers? Or perhaps..." Her eyes flashed. "We should let the Maker show _His_ favor."

Her snarl hushed the seething crowed, and she loved it. Loved the look of utter terror that the Revered Mother hid so quickly. _So little faith when faced with a true threat?_ Fury and disgust replaced it, and Lilian canted her head, curious if she would take the bait.

"So be it, _mage_ ," announced the woman. "May the Maker judge you justly."

Lilian could see the templars reaching for their swords, and she knew more than one of them was gathering for a smite.

"Varric," she kept her voice level, calm. "Anders, get the people back. It's only the templars we're meant to fight." She glared at the crowd supporting the Chantry, and most fell back as a glow surged around her hands.

"Stand down, good people," echoed the Revered Mother, and Lilian nearly laughed. So protective of its flock, this chantry. Why, their own dear mother would leave them in harm's way unless _reminded_. "In Andraste's holy name, we will _slay_ these heretics."

Then she did laugh. "So claimed _Knight-Commander Meredith_ before the Maker struck her down!"

"Seize them!"

Energy burst from Lilian's hands before the templars could get in a smite, her fury throwing most of them back like so many twigs. They crashed to the ground as a smite hit her an instant too late, and her connection to the Fade wavered. She stumbled, but stayed on her feet, knuckles white around her staff.

The templars tried to close on her, but Isabela took down two from behind before they even realized she was there. Fenris and Aveline charged on the bulk of them, and Varric's arrows sprouted from eye-slits and throats. A shield went up over her, and she automatically snatched one of the vials from her pouch. The lyrium burned going down, and she shook her head to clear it before Anders's shield dissipated.

Both mages cast from behind her, and she gritted her teeth, relieved that her ploy to draw the smite on herself had worked. At least for the moment.

The templars scrambled now, Merrill knocking them over or locking them in place while Fenris hacked them down. Isabela seemed to be everywhere at once, and focused lightning shot from Lilian's hands.

 _Only two left._

Just as she blasted one of them back, she heard shrieks rise from the crowd, and a roar split the night. The earth rattled beneath her, her skin crawling with that disgusting sensation that meant _demon_. _Seven sodding hells!_

Chaos erupted in the already churning square, people running and howling. "Go!" she yelled, trying to be heard over the crowd as she launched herself for the vile spiked beast. Already, the templar-turned-Pride Demon lumbered toward some of their earlier patients, and she screamed at it.

"Come and get me! You know you want me!" Lilian shot lightning at its face and pummeled it with earth until the stupid thing turned toward her, blissfully unaware of Isabela running up behind it. The pirate leaped, plunging her daggers into the creature's back and climbing him even as it swatted at Lilian.

Fenris snarled at it, dancing into range as she stumbled back, and Lilian felt Anders at her back. A cool wave of healing spilled over her like a caress, and together, they sent magic surging through the demon. It was nearly down.

A sudden smite rocked them both like a punch in the stomach, leaving her gasping as she fought to keep to her feet. Anders went to his knees behind her, and she hissed, searching for the templar she'd forgotten.

He was charging for her, and she screamed at him. "Are you stupid?" Her staff spun, blade coming up toward him just as he closed. "Kill the sodding _DEMON!_ "

Lilian's howls had no effect, but the sudden blade in his face made the templar stumble, and someone tackled him from the side even as Fenris and Isabela appeared next to her. Their defender finished off the templar quickly.

The elf snarled and pushed her back, muttering something in Arcanum that she was sure was insulting. "I love you too," she hissed, fumbling for another potion before she realized that the demon was down.

Isabela stopped her from drinking it, the captain looking her over for wounds before wrapping an arm around her. Lilian sank into her for a moment, recovering.

"Hawke, are you alright?" The familiar voice made her blink, and she turned to look at the man who had joined in the fight.

Blue eyes. Very _blue_ eyes. And blond hair. And a sweet worried smile. And an innocent corruptible face. What by Andraste's bloody tits was _he_ doing here?

She stared at him confused for a moment, then held up a finger. "Stay there."

Lilian shook her head and crept around the square now in utter disarray. Most of the people had fled when the demon appeared, but she found Anders kneeling next to a few mangled bodies. No doubt townsfolk that hadn't made it away in time. "They just wanted healing," he whispered, and she heard his voice catch. "We shouldn't have..."

"Stop," Lilian murmured as she stroked the healer's hair tenderly and felt him lean into her. "If the blighted Chantry would let us heal, then nothing would have come of this. This is not-"

"You _knew_ what would happen." Anders tried to hide the accusation in his voice, but she heard it all the same.

She bit back the urge to snort and remind him of what he had done. Instead, she sighed, fingers still curling in his hair. "I suspected, of course, but I didn't know a bloody _Pride Demon_ would join the party, Anders." He nodded against her side, shoulders slumped. "Guess that one must have been a transfer from Kirkwall."

He grimaced at her jest but said nothing more.

"Where's Mother Delia?"

He shook his head with a shrug, and she bent to kiss the corner of his mouth warmly. "I'll go check on the others."

A massive stinking Pride Demon corpse did wonders for discouraging unrest in the square, and even those who had stared at her in horror, as if _she_ had turned into a demon, discovered reasons to run as far they could.

None of her own had taken any serious damage, and Lilian quickly healed the minor injuries once her magic recovered. The worst was a nasty bump on Aveline's head, but surely her skull was hard enough to sustain it.

That left her with one thing to deal with: the pretty blond former templar who she'd not expected to see again. She squeezed the bridge of her nose before turning toward him. Once, after she'd rescued him, there had been _something_ between them, but that affection had become a strained "just friendship" after Carver betrayed her. She shook her head. It didn't do to think about _him_ , even if a part of her wondered...No, not now.

A hug. A hug would not hurt, and when Lilian moved to embrace him, he wrapped his arms around her tightly. It felt good, steadying. "Some of the rumors had you dead or worse, Hawke."

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear," she murmured, pulling back from him. "Keran, what are you doing here?"

His sunny smile greeted her, and he ruffled her hair. "I-"

"Hate to interrupt, Hawke," Varric's voice broke in, "but that Revered Mother beat a hasty retreat to the Chantry, and I don't think she was the only one."

Lilian rolled her shoulders wearily. "I guess we did give them too much excitement to hope they'd sleep now, right?" She grinned at the dwarf who rolled his eyes.

"Always too much excitement with you around, Hawke. Don't you know, you're responsible for that demon?"

She made a face at Varric then frowned. "Maker's balls, even when we fight the demons..."

"C'mon, Hawke, can't let 'em think that, right?"

Lilian shot the dwarf a broad grin, and he winked at her. "What should we tell them, Varric?" As they gathered up to press on to the Chantry with Keran joining them, she draped an arm around Varric's shoulders.

"Let's see," he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You have to be the beautiful heroine, of course."

"Of course!" Lilian laughed, and Varric wrapped his arm around her waist.

"And the Revered Mother wanted to lure you into her wicked clutches," mused Isabela, winking at Lilian as the pirate came up on her other side, her arm curling around her shoulders. "Because she was taken by unnatural lusts."

"Your stories always have unnatural lusts," teased Lilian, giggling when Bella's lips touched her neck. "Besides, this is a Pride Demon, not a Desire Demon."

Isabela grumbled, "Desire Demons are more fu-" Lilian pinched her hip. "Ow!"

"So in exchange for one of her templars, the Pride Demon offered Mother Delia..." Varric prompted.

"The seat of the Divine," suggested Anders.

"Jellied ham," chimed in Aveline, and Lilian choked on a laugh.

Varric snickered and shot a glance back. "What?"

"Why by Andraste's pinkest knickers would a Pride Demon offer her a jellied ham?" chortled Lilian.

Aveline scowled at her. "I don't know." She flushed slightly. "I hate these sodding stories."

"A jellied ham and copper marigolds!"

"Shut it, Hawke!"

Lilian couldn't help giggling. It was just too easy to fluster the stalwart swordswoman. "No, I want to know what she-"

Aveline growled, "So help me-"

"Ladies, ladies," interrupted Varric placatingly, "there's no reason the Pride Demon can't offer her a goat-"

"VARRIC!"

Their jesting continued along with the story, and their laughter rang through the night as they marched on toward the Chantry drowning out the low rumble of unhappy voices rising as they approached.


End file.
